


Sleepness Night

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Gen, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-27
Updated: 1999-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-11 01:46:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11138751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived atDue South Archive. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDue South Archive collection profile.





	Sleepness Night

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Sleepless Night

# SLEEPLESS NIGHT
    
    
      By Katherine Gilbert
    
        Constable Benton Fraser had been a bit uncomfortable sleeping in
    beds for several years now; sleeping bags just seemed more --
    appropriate, even in the city.  This night, however, he'd tried his bed,
    the floor, and even the fire escape to no avail.  Sleep wasn't coming.
    He'd then resorted to warm milk, counting caribou, and 
    searching Inuit stories for sleep remedies.  Nothing.  He decided, finally,
    when he could no longer stand Diefenbaker's resentful 
    glare (his pacing had woken him up), to look inside himself and 
    see what was bothering him.  The fact that he quickly found the 
    answer didn't encourage him.
        Diefenbaker growled softly.
        "Don't say that," Fraser responded, slightly put out.  "I am
    not obsessed.  I'm simply spending a bit more time thinking about her
    than is strictly necessary."
    
        Diefenbaker's ears went up in response, as he whined slightly. 
        "Well, it's not appropriate to think of her in those terms.
    She's my superior officer," he continued.  "I'm not at liberty
    to think of her romantically."
    
        Diefenbaker looked away, refusing to continue the conversation. 
        "Neanderthal," Fraser muttered.
        Fraser's mind began to retrace his acquaintanceship with 
    Inspector Thatcher.  Even when she seemed to hate his guts in the beginning,
    he couldn't bring himself to not respect her.  She was extremely competent,
    and she certainly was more capable of holding the position than her predecessor.
    
        It was really only over the last month or so that his feelings had
    started to take on a more -- personal tone.  Getting locked in an incubator
    with her hadn't helped.  Even in that situation, though, in 120 degrees
    F (he must be growing soft, he thought, thinking in American terminology),
    he never would have removed his tunic if
    she hadn't ordered him to.  He still wasn't sure whether he was
    relieved or not that she had only wanted to gain access to a piece of
    metal in his collar.  Then, there was that look in her eyes just before
    they got out of the room . . .
        "Why aren't you asleep, son?  It's two in the morning."
        Fraser jumped.  "Dad, would you *please* stop making such 
    dramatic entrances?  You could harm someone someday."
        "How? You're the only one who sees me," his father's ghost
    responded.
    
        "Well, what if I was holding something heavy over someone and dropped
    it when you appeared?" Fraser continued.
    
        "Are you likely to be doing that?  Anyway, you're changing the subject.
    You were thinking about your female Inspector.  Women in power," Fraser
    Sr. went on, "always knew it would lead to trouble." 
        "Dad, women have just as much right to be in authority as men.  Most
    do a fine job of it. . . And how did you know I was thinking about Inspector
    Thatcher anyway?"
    
        "Well, what do you think?" his father replied, "You created me like
    this.  Don't you think I'd know what was going on in your head?" 
        Fraser sighed.  Dief had given up and gone back to sleep.
    
        "So," Fraser Sr. continued, "what are you going to do about it?"
    
        "About what?" Fraser responded innocently, if not convincingly. 
        "This woman!  Really, son, if you're going to bring me back, you
    might as well be open with me . . . This isn't going to turn out like
    that incident with that other woman, is it?  If it is, I might as well
    leave now.  I mean, you never listen to me anyway, but that time, well,
    you were downright unreasonable."
    
        "Victoria was in trouble, Dad," Fraser responded.  "She needed my
    help."
    
        "She set you up on a murder charge!  She almost got you killed!"
    Fraser Sr. was indignant now.
    
        "That too," Fraser admitted.  "Anyway, why are you bringing her up?"
    
        "Well, let's face it, son.  It's not like you have a sterling track
    record here."
    
        Fraser sighed again.  "Well, I haven't sent Inspector Thatcher to
    jail for a number of years, Dad, . . . and she hasn't seemed to want
    me dead for quite some time now."
    
        "That'll change," Fraser Sr. answered.  "Women.  Can't understand
    them at all -- not even since I've died."
    
        "You didn't understand them much when you were alive," Fraser muttered.
    
        "I heard that!" his father responded.  "Now you're getting 
    offensive.  Do that again, and I'll leave."
        Fraser stopped himself from saying "Good."
    
        "So, what is the big problem you have with this Inspector?" his father
    continued.  "She seems nice enough, I suppose, in a bossy sort of way."
    
        "That's exactly the point.  She's my commanding officer, Dad. It's
    disrespectful of me to think of her in personal terms.  You never would
    have thought of your commanding officer in that way."
    
        "Of course not!" his father was indignant again.  "He was an ex-
    Canadian Air Force colonel!  Anyway, he had a wife and five kids." 
        Fraser gave his father an exasperated look.  "Inspector Thatcher
    is an extremely competent, highly intelligent officer in the RCMP.  That's
    all.  To think of her in . . . romantic or . . . physical terms is disrespectful.
    Period."  He gave his father a warning look.
    
        Fraser Sr. shook his head.  "I can see you're not going to be reasoned
    with.  Let me tell you a little story about when I met your mother .
    . ."
    
        "Hamlet had it easier than this!"  Fraser interrupted.  "At least
    his father's ghost didn't try to give him romantic advice."
    
        "You're getting offensive again, son.  I'm going.  Think of me again
    when you're in a better mood."  His father then disappeared. 
        Fraser shook his head.  At least he'd managed to stop him before
    he told him more stories this time; his romantic ones weren't very helpful.
    
        Fraser decided to go back onto the fire escape to try to see the
    stars.  He usually thought better that way.  After a few minutes, Dief,
    who'd gotten up to stretch, came and poked his nose out to join him.
    
        "Maybe he's partly right," Fraser said to him.  "Maybe I am a little
    afraid since Victoria."
        Diefenbaker growled softly.
    
        Fraser looked at him.  "Okay, so I wasn't exactly Casanova before
    then . . . That's not what I want anyway."  He looked back up at the
    stars again.  "I don't know if I would get involved with Thatcher if
    she weren't my boss, but I know that I can't, since she is."
        Dief growled again.
    
        "You're right," Fraser responded, looking at him.  "It does seem
    really cliched too . . . I'm sure with a little effort I can stop thinking
    about her so much."
        Diefenbaker growled slightly louder this time.
    
        Fraser looked away.  "Hamlet definitely had it easy," he said. 
    
    ***********************************************
    
        Across town, Inspector Margaret Thatcher was pacing in her
    bedroom.  Partly, she was worried that Henri Clouthier might damage her
    career now that she'd told him off.  Mostly, however, she had to admit
    that her thoughts were more on Fraser.  Why pick him to pretend to be
    dating?  Admittedly,  he had been convenient, but so was her obsequious
    secretary.
    
        "He's safe," she said aloud to herself.  "He didn't, he wouldn't,
    take it as a come-on.  He's extremely unlikely to ever make any 
    unwelcome moves on me."
        As she said this, her newly acquired, American cat, Carter,
    mewed.
    
        Thatcher looked annoyed.  "Don't try to pull Freud on me, Carter.
    It wasn't because I wanted it to be true.  He was convenient and safe;
    that's all.  There's no need to look into it further."
        Carter stared at her intently.
    
        "I'm just pacing because I can't sleep."  She paused.  "And I can't
    sleep because . . . I'm not tired," she continued.
        Carter didn't look like he was buying it.
    
        "Alright, so he's attractive! And polite.  And gentle.  And . . .
    would you stop looking at me that way?" she addressed her cat.
        Carter began to nonchalantly wash his back.
    
        Thatcher relapsed into thought.  She hadn't felt this way about Fraser
    when she was first assigned here.  But, then again, his record hadn't
    been encouraging.  He'd been charged with murder and had been shot when
    he seemed to be fleeing the jurisdiction.  His record before this may
    have been spotless, but murder charges were hard to ignore. 
        Then, there was the fact that he *always* seemed so polite, no matter
    how she treated him.  Thatcher tended not to trust extreme politeness
    in men.  It usually meant they wanted something.  In
    Clouthier, and other former bosses, it was a veil over sexual
    innuendos.  For her assistant, it was merely obsequiousness.  She'd assumed
    that Fraser's politeness masked some criminal tendencies to begin with,
    judging from his recent record, and she'd been rather annoyed when he'd
    proven himself true every time.
    
        "Damn," she muttered.  Carter looked up at her.  "And don't give
    me that look again," she told him.
    
        Carter put on an air of innocence that too closely resembled a feline
    version of Fraser's poor attempts at lying.
    
        "If you don't watch it," Thatcher responded, "I'm going to feed you
    to a deaf wolf."
        Carter, insulted, departed to the kitchen.
    
        "The attraction's mutual, I'm sure," she now continued out loud to
    herself.  "But that hardly matters.  He's my subordinate.  After being
    sexually harassed myself, I can hardly turn around and do it to 
    someone else, even if he is attracted to me."
    
        She let out a deep sigh, as she fell back heavily onto her bed. "Besides,"
    she continued, "it's just so cliched."
    
    


End file.
